Why I Never Became a Cat Hater, EVER AGAIN!
"Why I Never Became a Cat Hater, EVER AGAIN!" by TheDarkCat97 All right, guys. Get the hate mail ready. I mean, really. Get them ready. Get your fingers on the keyboards. Here we go...I hated cats. You heard right. I hated cats. Do I kill them like a sick fuck? No. Do I think those cat videos are funny? Absolutely. But the world wide web is a sea of cat listicles, videos and GIFs. Cat videos rake in millions and millions, and a handful of websites devote a huge portion of their resources to cat-mania, not to mention the many cat celebrities who prowl our midst — Grumpy Cat, Colonel Meow and Keyboard Cat, to name a few. For the cat haters among us (like myself), every day online is a landmine of cat content and a continuation of those feelings of increased isolation. You may feel alien, but there are historic and scientific reasons for your disinterest in all things feline. Just like for all those cilantro haters out there, sometimes there are reasons beyond your control for hating something everyone else seems to love. But, that was in the past, and since this is 2019, I'm now devoting my life to these creatures anyway I can. Why did I have a change of heart? It's because something happened in my life that changed everything, and it's not that I gave in due to being pressured by those cute little eyes of there's, no. It was something different, something that will forever scar me for life. I was never drunk, nor was I high when it happened, and neither was I completely and utterly insane. This all happened for real, and I can very well say that it legitimately scared the ever loving shit out of me. It all started with me moving in with my sister because I didn't have any money to buy me a house of my own. We both have our own different opinions, it was basically our way of saying we truly accept all our fetishes and faults and habits, and, one of my sister’s fetishes were cats. She loved cats. She used to say, ‘If you don't like cats, then fuck you’. Although, because I hate cats to the point that I’d actually rather run myself over with a bulldozer then live with one up and personal, it was proven she mean it when she said that. But basically you get the point: she absolutely adored cats, and she'll protect them like a lion defending her cubs. And since now that I moved in with my sister and ‘accepted all our traits’ I now apparently had to deal with a cat. Now, she knows I hate cats, so she did agree to lock our cat in this separate room in our house when it’s time to sleep and when I’m home alone. Those were her ground rules and I frankly didn’t have a problem, even though she thinks that I'm an asshole for hating cats. Anyhow- this isn’t the point. The only thing you need to know is we were getting a cat. It was about three months ago when we finally decided it was time to go to the shelter and pick up one of those demonic live fur balls. I didn’t complain too much. If my sister's happy then so am I. By the time we got to the shelter there weren’t that many cats. The guy in the front claimed that cats were quite popular in this part of town, so it was actually really surprising there were some left. My sister, not caring about anything besides the idea of getting her own cat, quickly made her way over to the selection. I didn’t follow too fast; in fact, I didn’t even want to follow at all. When I reached my sister, however, she was staring intently at a certain cage that most likely stood out to her more than the others. I knew what she was staring at would be the pet we took home, so I braced myself to see what I’d be spending my life with. And I was shocked. Literally, 100% shocked. You see: my sister likes cats for their optimism and the will to play and cuddle. Those are really all she looks for in a cat. And this one cat, that had managed to stuff itself in the far corner of its given litter box, heh, definitely did not have those qualities. The cat itself was actually one of those black cats you'd normally see, not one of those demonic abominations of Hell like those internet stories want you to believe. But one of it's ears were chipped. Probably got into a fight with another cat before being taken here. I glanced over to my sister and asked her if she was sure. She didn’t answer, so I asked again, this time a little more stern. The last thing I needed was a pissy cat that was only in my house for the luxury. The second time, she merely nodded, as if in a trance. I sighed and made my way back to the employee. “Hey, man,” I had said, “she wants that black one that has made a nest in it's litter box.” He looked down into the hallway where my sister stood still looking at the cat. He sighed and handed me the finalized certificate and a list of things we needed to get for that stupid feline, medication wise. “I’m guessing you don’t like cats?” He smirked, thinking that I'm some jane on the street. “Hate them,” I replied before going to my sister. The cat’s eyes followed me as I went over to her and offered to help her up, but she shook her head and got up with ease, cat still in her hands. She didn’t talk the whole car ride. I guess I should’ve started to be concerned by that point, but strangely, I wasn’t. That was three months ago, and my sister’s actions had only gotten worse. It started with, ‘The cat doesn’t like when you sit there’, and ‘the cat doesn’t like when you touch that’ lectures. I thought it was just her cat-loving problem, but boy, was I wrong. After one month of demon cat had passed, the whole ‘for the cat’ shit got worse. She was then buying movies and clothes and literal human mattresses for the cat. Eventually that guest bedroom had more and more stuff that was totally irrational for a cat, like 14 potted plants and five bowls for five different kinds of drinks. And here’s the weird thing- that cat didn’t use any of it. It just sat there, on the floor, not moving. That brings me to that damned fucking cat. When my sister wasn’t there worshiping that stupid animal like it was her lord and savior, it wasn't locked in the other room. I shit you not when I say this... It glared at me. Let me repeat that- It. Fucking. Glared at me. Like it wanted nothing to do with me. Later that night, I was getting a beer till I saw that cat. It had patted on a piece of paper crumbled up into a ball. I raised an eyebrow, and asked it what it was doing. It looked at me, with that glare again, and hit it to where the paper went flying towards my feet. I watched as it went to another room, and I picked the paper up and unfolded it, to see a message that says; "Why do you hate me, dad?" I thought it was just my imagination like any normal person would. My cat was the world’s grumpiest living thing on this planet, and I’d be shitting you if I didn’t say I wasn’t a little spooked. But this message… It was something different. I knew cats don't have thumbs, and thinking that my cat wrote that letter was a dumb idea. So, it must've came from someone in our neighborhood. I knew that grumpy old man couldn't stand my guts. But why would he call me 'daddy'? That thought alone made me cringe a little just thinking about it. By a month or two, my sister had gotten worse, and I was deeply considering telling her to get rid of that fucking cat. She was now taking it out to the store with us, and on our late night car rides to get ice-cream and listen to music and vent out our hate on work or people we are forced to associate with. She even once and a while changed our favorite station on the radio, saying, “The cat doesn’t like this song”. And that leads us to now. The cat still glares, but… my sister doesn't take notice. She’s like a zombie. The only thing we do its argue over that fucking cat. For example- 2 weeks ago. We’ve lost so much money, we are barely hanging on the expenses for this house, and all because she decided to buy that bitch of a pet a fucking flat screen TV- pardon my French. Basically saying my sister worships this cat. And now- now the sister I love is gone. It was last week on Thursday that we argued over the cat again, she said that the cat wasn't doing me harm and that I was being a spoiled brat for not getting a dog. A few choice words from both of us and... What I did was unacceptable but, I didn't care... I punched her. Hard. Like hitting a punching bag. I felt my stomach twist and turn like an ocean when I did that, but I was so clouded with rage that I was out of control. I was even shrieking, calling her a bitch, slut, whore, it was insane. I was like an animal that needed to be locked in a cage. I was going to hit her again but stopped when I saw the blood gushing from her nose. My eyes widened, and I tried to apologize but, she was too emotional to even think. She screamed at me, called every name in the book, and told me to leave. She kicked me out of the house, and I never saw her again. I felt that, the cat had won. And I was beaten, bruised, and defeated. But, you know, it's funny; I remember trying to use a knife to slice up the couch to pin the blame on the cat, but she wound up finding out that it was from the knife I was using, cause the 'scratches' were way to big. But all those fun memories were dashed, and I was thrown out into the cold with nothing but the clothes on my back. And to make the matters worse, she filed a restraining order against me, saying that I turned abusive. Luckily I remembered a friend of mine named Phil, who lives in an apartment complex just miles downtown. I wound up staying at his place just so I can save money to buy me a place of my own. He agreed to let me stay, and I was singularly at ease. On Friday, I felt relieved that there was no cat in site, but as I woke up that morning, I went to the bathroom, and saw on the bathroom mirror, a message written in red marker. "I hate you..." THAT freaked me out. But then I remembered the other message on that piece of paper months back. It all made sense, but, what did it all mean? WHO hated me? After what just happened earlier, my sister seemed to be the obvious answer. Or maybe just some creepy stalker, I don't know. Everyday, message-after-message kept popping up. Hell, even sending death threats and having me go through numerous incidents like; a potted plant nearly fell on my head, a car nearly ran me over, and someone tried to mail me a package, only to discover that it was a ticking bomb and nearly blew me sky high! Day-after-day I became more and more paranoid, constantly looking over my shoulder and kept myself up all night with caffeinated drinks. But one night I received a letter from someone anonymous. I was hesitant at first, but grabbed it and read it. "Don't you think you've caused enough trouble?!" I was literally scared to death but, I wasn't phased by it now. I'm now a wanted man. But, WHO wanted me dead?! Next month around 11:00 PM, I had enough of the constant threats, I tried to call the cops, but I discovered that the wires were cut. I tried to run out of the apartment, but the door was locked. And I was in my apartment bedroom scared out of my mind. Then I heard something on my bed, I turned, and through the moonlight shining down from my window... Was the monster responsible... My sister's cat! Standing on it's hind legs with a long kitchen knife in it's right paw!The cat's usual angry glare was now lost to a visage I could only describe as berserk. It's brow furrowed, scrunching into a wide arches. It's teeth gnarled and, it's slick black fur now flailed wildly about his body and danced of its own accord. I backed to the door, and I can see it point that knife at me, and it moved it's lips, as if it was talking. But it wasn't audible. Nothing came out of it's maw, just silence. It was as if it was lip-syncing what it was trying to say. It looked to be yelling at me about something, but I couldn't understand it due to it not saying a ingle, audible word. It's as if it was a person on TV that's on mute. I tried opening the door, but the creature threw the knife into the door, nearly stabbing me in the head, but it was inches away from my face! The cat lunged at me, but I dodged it and made for my only escape; the now open window. I ran to it, but the cat rammed it's body under my foot, causing me to trip! It got was on top of me, scratching my face like a Tasmanian devil! I threw it off, and ran to the window again! I stuck one foot out, but the cat was still after me! It pounced on me, causing the two of us to fall out of the window and land on the concrete with a loud thud! Phil's apartment room is on the third floor, so it was a long fall. I felt a sharp pain on my back, and past out due to the pain. I woke up in the hospital and the doctor told me that I broke my spine after falling from a three story window. I landed on the concrete so yeah, it hurt like hell. I didn't know how I managed to survive such a fall. I don't believe in angels, but maybe a guardian angel saved my life. I tried telling the doctor that my sister's cat hunted me down and tried to kill me. I had to tell the truth, but the doctor didn't believe me, saying that I must've been on some hallucinogenic before I fell. He asked me if I took any drugs, and I told him that I didn't. I didn't inject myself with heroin, smoke Kush, hell, I even lifted my nostrils up to show the doctor that I wasn't snorting cocaine. He continued to write in his clipboard and told me that he'll be right back. While I laid there on the hospital bed, I thought about that night. That cat, it was the one that tried to kill me. Even though I blamed myself for being a pussy and not defending myself, but still, I couldn't blame it for getting revenge on me for all the emotional abuse I've inflicted on it. And for the physical abuse on my sister... I felt like the biggest jackass the world's ever seen. But one question bubbled in my brain, 'how the hell did it do all those things: the potted plant, the car, and the bomb? And most of all, those messages?' Those questions remained unanswered for obvious reasons. After I got out of the hospital, I went back to Phil's apartment, and everything went smoothly. I did expect the cat to come back and finish me off. But. It didn't. Probably thought I was already dead or something. Now-and-days, I grew to respect the feline race, not because they scared the bejeezus out of me, but I knew they were like us humans; they think like us, they know from right and wrong. And also, they have the instinct to seek vengeance on someone who did it wrong. Bet you didn't know that did ya? I learned that cat haters claim that outdoor cats are to blame for the decline in the numbers of birds and other wildlife. What are outdoor cats though? This is where the confusion begins. Throughout the article, they do not differentiate between feral cats and pet cats that are let outside. By doing so, they come to all the wrong conclusions about feral cat care. No doubt these animals are going to tear those people apart. Those cat haters may say that these cats are trying to keep them quiet, but I know what they're trying to do. These cats are defending themselves, and protecting their young from extinction. After all, what good is a hate speech, if that person isn't aloud to speak? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Do not avenge yourselves, beloved, but leave room for God's wrath. For it is written: 'vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord'" - Romans 12:19 Category:Animals Category:Original Category:Psychopasta